There was a little pen near the brook.

The men drove the sheep into this pen and shut them in.

One man waded out into the brook.

"All ready," he said.

Then another man opened the gate of the pen.

He drove one sheep out and into the water.

The man in the brook caught it.

He held it between his knees in the water.

He washed the wool and squeezed it in his hands.

He pulled out burrs and straws and sticks from the wool.
The sheep in the water was very still.

When the man thought the sheep was clean, he let it go.
Off it ran, baaing into the woods.

The man in the pen sent out another sheep into the water.

Soon the sheep were all washed and were running about in the woods.

We children liked that time best.

What a noise!

What a running-about!

Mothers had lost their lambs, and lambs had lost their mothers.

They ran about the woods bleating to call each other.

When they met they were very happy.

The mothers rubbed the little ones with their noses.

The lambs danced around their mothers.

It was a very pretty sight.

We children laughed with joy.

After some days, the sheep's wool was dry.

The boys swept the barn floor clean.

They drove all the sheep into the front barn-yard.

It was clean there.

Father took down the sheep-shears from the shed and went to the barn.

"Come on," he called when he was ready.

The boys drove a sheep into the barn.
Father caught it and put it between his knees.
Sometimes the sheep tried to get away.
Then father tied its legs together.

Then it had to lie quiet on the floor. "Clip, clip," went the shears.

The thick wool began to roll off.

It was matted together.

So it came off in one piece.

It looked like a whole skin, as it lay on the floor.
When it was all cut off, one of the boys took it.
He tied it into a roll.

Father untied the sheep's legs.

It ran out into the other barn-yard, baaing for its friends. The boys drove another one in.

Off came his wool.

The sheared sheep looked very funny.

Their legs were like little sticks.

Their pink skin showed through their short hair.

My father looked at the pile of wool in the barn.

"Well," he said, "that will make us all the clothes we need.

"I think we shall have some to sell."

THE SHEEP

"Lazy sheep, pray tell me why
In the grassy fields you lie,
Eating grass and daisies white
From the morning till the night?
Everything can something do,
But what kind of use are you?"

"Nay, my little master, nay,
Do not serve me so, I pray;

Don't you see the wool that grows
On my back to make your clothes?
Cold, ah! very cold, you'd get,
If I did not give you it.

"Sure it seems a pleasant thing
To nip the daisies in the spring,
But many chilly nights I pass
On the cold and dewey grass,

Or pick a scanty dinner where
All the common's brown and bare.

"Then the farmer comes at last,
When the merry spring is past,
And cuts my wooly coat away
To warm you in the winter's day;
Little master, this is why

In the grassy fields I lie."

-ANN TAYLOR.

UP! UP! YE DAMES AND LASSES GAY!

Up! Up! ye danes and lasses gay!
To the meadows trip away.

'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,

And scare the small birds from the corn,

Not a soul at home may stay;

For the shepherds must go

With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods today.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse:

Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet,
Not a soul at home may stay:

For the shepherds must go
With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods today.

-S. T. COLERIDGE.

SHEPHERD PICTURES

Shepherds on the hillside, playing pipes,
Calling to each other through your pipes,
Looking at your sheep and at the rocks,
Looking at the hills and at the trees,
Looking at the valleys down below,

And making up tunes on your pipes.

Looking at the craggy mountain-side
And looking at the stars at night,
Looking at the deep blue sky,

And looking at the moon among the clouds-
How sweet is the life of the shepherd!
-Second Grade, 1904.

KINDERGARTEN AND PRIMARY GAMES

ANNE ELIZABETH ALLEN

University Elementary School

Until the effort is made one can never know the difficulty of the task of trying to write out children's games. The baldness and bareness of mere words, minus the music, the charming. unconscious action of the children, and the thousand subtilties that add to the rounding-out of a game, tempt one, even after putting his hand to the plow, to turn back. Besides, one never plays a game exactly the same the second time. Different children, different days, different conditions in many ways, combine to make changes to "fit." Hence only an artist could put before a reader an adequate description of many of the games that grow directly out of the work in hand.

The introduction of a new game is an art, a fine art built upon long experience. To make it go, it must take hold of the children's interest in a practical way. The leader must know where to turn for help among the children who have strength in taking the initiative and whose interest will at once become active. Again, the leader must be able at a moment's notice to change her plan or modify it according to the suggestions of the children.

By dramatizing the industrial life around us we are soon able to select the dramatic incidents in a story, and "act them out"-mostly in pantomime, to be sure, but in a way most satisfactory and pleasing to the children.

From time to time I hope to make the attempt to put before the readers of this magazine some of the plays and games as we have played them in our kindergarten, asking always leniency for the manner and style of the bare outlines I am forced to give.

GAME I

CLOUDS AND RAIN

Time: A cloudy, rainy day.

Music: "Plump Little Baby Clouds," from Primary and Kindergarten